


Comfy Cozy are We

by reserve



Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: Families of Choice, Fluff, Holidays, Post-Captain America: The Winter Soldier, Thanksgiving, couldn't help myself
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-27
Updated: 2014-11-27
Packaged: 2018-02-27 05:59:20
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,399
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2681732
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/reserve/pseuds/reserve
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Got anything to be thankful for, Steve?" Natasha asks him, and smiles enigmatically. </p><p>After months of travel, Sam Wilson and Steve Rogers return to DC. Suddenly it's Thanksgiving.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Comfy Cozy are We

**Author's Note:**

> A bit of unedited holiday fluff for you and yours. And also the first time I've written anything post-serum. Thanks to [Ark](http://archiveofourown.org/users/ark) and [imochan](http://archiveofourown.org/users/imochan) for the ideas. I'm thankful for you guys.

It’s a wet Sunday afternoon, and DC is the chilliest it's been so far this Fall.

Steve and Sam have been on the road, following Bucky’s limited trail from Calgary to Kalamazoo, and it feels good to be somewhere familiar for a time. Natasha shows up with a limp a day after he and Sam settle in and no one talks about it. Battle wounds and quiet understanding abound; they’re all a little transient now.

“Thanksgiving is this week,” Sam says as they’re shooting the shit in his living room with a football game on mute. Natasha is killing Steve at Gin rummy.

“Hmmm.” Natasha eyes the kitchen from her spot on the couch.

After that, Thanksgiving food starts showing up in the fridge and cabinets. By Tuesday there’s a massive turkey on the bottom shelf of the fridge, a bowl of cranberries on the kitchen table, cans of organic pumpkin puree on the counter, something called a brining bag next to the stove, and a row of spices Sam definitely didn’t have before along the top of the stove.

“Oh yeah?” Steve says to Natasha when he catches her sneakily unloading kale and potatoes in the middle of the night.

She shrugs, and smiles enigmatically at him. “Got anything to be thankful for?”

“Think so,” Steve says, and smiles back from behind the glass of milk he came to get in the first place.  

So they’re having Thanksgiving dinner at Sam’s house. It makes sense, he _is_ the only one with a fully functional kitchen, plus all of the appliances needed to prepare a proper feast. He’s also the only one with an apartment. Sam seems pleased though, like the best possible thing he could imagine is having a holiday meal with an assassin and a super soldier. Steve suspects he’s just charmed by Natasha’s application of her skills to grocery shopping.

It’s all a little overwhelming, though, the preparation. Steve remembers when Thanksgiving meant cranberry sauce from a can, a scrawny roast chicken, and potatoes mashed by hand; and tells Natasha as much as she’s wrestling Sam’s stand mixer off a shelf just a hair too high up.

“Would you just let me—” Steve reaches above her to grab the heavy machine, but she fixes him with a glare so potent he steps back a little with his hands raised.

“C’mon Rogers, you know better than to touch a lady’s tools.”

“Technically that’s Sam’s.”

Natasha sets the stand mixer down with a clang and pushes her hair out of her face with a huff. “Technicalities,” she says, plugging it in. She pulls out flour and sugar and grabs a can of pumpkin puree.

“I didn’t know you baked,” Steve says.

“There’s lots of—”

“Yeah, yeah, lots of stuff I don’t know about you.”

She rolls her eyes at him.

“This is nice thing to know, though.”

Natasha’s lips quirk. She looks pleased, or about as pleased as she visibly gets. As it turns out, she makes a mean bundt cake.

When Thursday rolls around, Steve realizes he hasn’t done a thing to help out. Natasha has taken care of all the sides and two desserts, and Sam started waxing poetic about his turkey roasting abilities the moment the bird showed up. Steve thinks it might be for the best; his culinary talents are limited to rice, scrambled eggs, and a fairly decent macaroni casserole. Bucky had always. Bucky had always been the more talented of the two when it came to cooking.

In consolation for his lack of contributions to the meal, Steve decides to buy flowers for the table, and a pint of good vanilla ice cream to go with the pie. Apple pie without ice cream is a travesty, and his ma would agree. So would Bucky. It’s so strange to think that this is only his fourth Thanksgiving without Bucky Barnes in his life, and yet, he supposes Bucky _is_ in his life for this one. However changed he may be; he’s out there somewhere.

Steve will never stop being thankful for that.

Regardless of what Bucky might be or become, he'll never stop being thankful to know he’s alive. His heart may hurt, but it’s a much less crushing pain than the vise around his chest since Bucky’s fall.

Sam’s house is fragrant beyond belief by Thursday afternoon, and Steve carefully sets the table with flowers and a pair of candles he dug out of the trunk in Sam’s living room. He feels like a fool, like the world’s biggest sap, but he sets a fourth place, next to his. Just in case. Just because you know never know. Natasha catches his eye as he’s pulling the napkins through turkey shaped napkin rings and raises an eyebrow.

Steve shrugs, sheepish. “He’s always known we were following him.” He doesn’t have to say who.

“Ok, Steve,” Natasha says quietly. “If that’s what you need.”

He doesn’t detect any pity in her voice, but her eyes are sad, and she turns back to the stovetop before he gets up the nerve to protest. He wants to say, I don't _know_ what I need, but Natasha is humming “O Come, O Come Emmanuel,” high and sweet, and he holds his tongue.

Sam doesn’t say a word about the extra place setting when they sit down for dinner.

It starts to flurry, and Sam turns the porch light on so they can see the flakes coming down onto the patio beyond the sliding door.

“Grace?” He asks teasingly.

“Nah,” says Steve, and spoons a heaping pile of mashed potatoes onto Sam’s plate. Natasha laughs.

They’ve barely got their plates filled up when Natasha startles and is on her feet in an instant, gun in hand. Sam and Steve are up just as quickly, and they follow Natasha’s gaze out onto the patio. Steve’s heartbeat kicks up into an adrenaline fueled frenzy. For a moment he thinks he might pass out like he would’ve as a kid; then he’s leaping over the table to the sliding door, and pulling it open.

There’s a dusting of snow on his cap and his jacket, but there’s no mistaking him even with the beard. Steve would know him anywhere. _Bucky_.

“Put the gun down, Nat.” Steve says slowly, and steps aside to let Bucky into the room. A show of trust. 

“Not gonna do that, Steve.”

“It’s ok,” says Bucky, his voice a quiet rasp. “I’m not. I’m not a threat.”

Natasha eyes him warily and Sam goes to her, puts his hand over both of hers and gently lowers the gun with her.

“Bucky?” Steve says. He’s itching to touch him. Itching to put his hands on Bucky’s shoulders and pull him close.

“Yeah, Steve. _Yeah_.”

Sam sighs heavily, and says not without sarcasm, “It’s a Thanksgiving miracle.”

It really is, Steve thinks. “Did you want to join us? I mean, are you hungry? There’s…”

“Is that a place for me?” Bucky asks, folding in on himself a little, like he can’t believe what he’s seeing, like a man who hasn’t had a place in a long time.

Steve has the good grace to blush furiously and look down.

It’s Natasha who says, “It is if you want it, Barnes.” She shoves the chair out with her foot, an offering.

Bucky looks at all of them in turn, his blue eyes brighter than Steve remembers having ever seen them.

“Please stay,” he says, and tentatively puts a hand on Bucky’s right forearm. He doesn’t jolt, so Steve lets the full weight of his hand rest there. “Please,” he says again, and he knows it sounds like he’s begging. He _is_ begging. He knew he’d end up begging at some point.

Bucky swallows visibly and a chill goes through him. He moves away from Steve’s touch.

“I’ll stay,” he says, finally. “But you’ve gotta close this door. A fella could freeze.”

“You’re telling me,” Steve says, without thinking.

They make eye contact, and Bucky’s mouth twitches. It might be a smile. It could be a smile. It could just be a twitch.

They sit.

“Who wants carrots,” Sam asks.

Steve fidgets until Bucky grabs his left hand in his right, and holds on to it. It’s a bruising grip. Steve could care less.

“Got anything to be thankful for, Rogers?” Natasha says again, echoing herself.

“You bet,” Steve says. “You bet.”   

 

**Author's Note:**

> Follow me on [tumblr](http://reserve.tumblr.com) if you wanna.


End file.
